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X: Vorkidae's Folly (The Blackwind)
The Vorkidae were outmatched. They could try and wait them out, to outlast the encroaching armies, but that would only be delaying the inevitable. Even if old favors could be called, there was no way through to the continent. Rathraq’s armies were all around. There was no retreat. They had their honor to think of, so there was no more chance at a foul play. And no chance of surrender. The Vorkidae’s finest force was afield before dawn, painted menacingly and brandishing their shields and arms. They watched a black line cresting the ridge against the red morning sky. Warriors, known not by their silhouettes in the distance but by their appearance in this place. The wind had held, but with the rising sun’s heat, a gust stirred. Feathers from ravens and starlings were held outstretched in each of the warriors’ hands along the ridge and took to wing, spiraling and tumbling forward. To the Vorkidae army, it was a darkening wall that swept toward them, painting the battlefield in glistening shadows. As the sun was just appearing, a black wind fell upon them. The lines met. Riders raked the Vorkidae flank, kept at bay with spear-clubs. Arrows skipped harmlessley off upturned shields. The lines held. On the front, there was nary a spot of blood. When the first Vorkidae turned and twisted, face full of panick, shield arm past its limit, crumpling, their ranks broke in an instant, sending them toward the eastern treeline as the riders flayed their backs and hamstrings, pinning their hearts and viscera to the bloodied heath. The riders pursued to the trees. They would chase their quarry to the last. “To heel!” Lord Rathraq shouted from where the rear guard still stood on the hill. A trumpeter beside him raised his long whalhorn and the drummer beat the crab-shell drum. The riders stopped at the treeline, returning to ranks with shoulders high and heads, wolves deprived of the hunt. When the ranks fell back in order, Rathraq gave another signal, and two more armies crested the hill. The Blackwind marched onward, following the routed remnants toward the walls: the last bastion of the Vorkidae. Pillage (Dalton) The Vorkidae city gates barely stood to bottleneck the unified armies of the Blackwind. They poured over and into the city, their ferocity overwhelming every obstacle in their way. No fear of man, no fear of death. A group of brave warriors were all that were left to keep the Vorkidae clan’s honor intact. Back to back they stood to the last man. Even King Rathraq respected them enough to condescend and face their leader himself, who died swearing he would face him again in the afterlife. Rathraq very much looked forward to it. By nightfall the entire city was nothing but rubble, illuminated by the flames covering markets, bodies, and homes. A place of weeping and gnashing of teeth. Warbeasts were let loose outside through the forests, tails on fire. Those who fled to the trees would be turned back, turned to ash, or drove off the cliffs. For ceremony, soldiers gathered the survivors, those who couldn’t fight or were unlucky enough to live through the siege. Two warriors deferred to Hankst, who now kept one arm in a sling and the other on the hilt of a longsword. “Lozzek, Garrol, spread the word to the men, gather the valubles, and no women are to be touched...” He looked down at them. “Understand? The King wants everyone to enter the afterlife honored. Any one disagrees can speak to ‘em.” Meanwhile, Rathraq looked over a deep whole the warriors had prepared. As each survivor was gathered around the pit, he gestured to his warriors and they drug out a man, bound and gagged before his feet. He crouched down to meet the man eye to eye. “Ah, Drokkar, blasphemer... coward. You’d defile your people, and for this?” He grabbed a handful of dirt and let it slip through his fingers. Drokkar shook and screamed muffled shouts, eyes seething with rage and sorrow. “You’ll hate us, think us cruel, you will live long enough to understand your people’s death is your folly. And when you finally die you will walk deaf, dumb, and blind through the afterlife. And everyone will know this is Drokkar, Son of Bervand, the fool who stood against the Blackwind, who forsook his people.” Rathraq gestured once more and the men tossed Drokkar’s body head-first into the pit, a rope tied around his bound body, hair dangling in the darkness. Drums began to play and warrior priests chanted, as the gathered people screamed and wept. Women, children, and elderly alike were executed one after another above the pit. Their throats opened with blood pouring into the hole and over Drokkar. All night the warriors surreptitiously pulled upon the rope holding him, just before he could drown on the lifeblood of the people he had failed. Result Blackwind summarily defeat the Vorkidae, scattering their ranks to the winds. victors choose to Pillage, destroying 8 Power, 10 Income, and 9 Culture in the province. The armies get their pay with 25 Energy and 35 Wealth left over. razes the last of the Vorkidae holdings to the ground sending it to history along with its people. Category:NBX: Turn History Category:NBX: Conflict